


The Father's Justice

by TeamGwenee



Series: Halloween at Casterly Rock [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Murder Mystery, halloween fic, horror fic, moder AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: Jaime had hoped that after selling all the shares to his dead's father's company, he would be free from Casterly Inc. But fate had other plans in store for him.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Halloween at Casterly Rock [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/860544
Comments: 12
Kudos: 62
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Week 2020





	The Father's Justice

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by Se7en.

“She’s going to stop by the lilies,” Tyrion hisses. “It’s too perfect.”

“Ten dragons she hovers under the stained glass window first,” Jaime shot back, his artistic eye sharply noting the ray of sunlight breaking through the grim grey clouds. 

Sansa Stark took a moment to linger under the ornate window, shoulders dropped and profile on display as she twisted her neck to consider an empty corner, Behind her, the light emitting from the Maiden shone through, setting Sansa’s flame red hair ablaze with gold and glory.

“Light is elusive,” Jaime hissed as Tyrion grudgingly passed over the notes. “The lilies will wait.”

Tyrion glowered. “Damn you,” he hissed.

Jaime just smirked and tapped the side of his head. “Artist’s eye,” he said silkily.

Sansa moved like a series of paintings, frame to frame. “Still trying to get you to paint a portrait of her?” Tyrion asked.

“Wanted me to paint a picture of her and her brothers for her mother’s fiftieth,” Jaime responded. “Then maybe one just of her brothers, and another just of her.”The younger Stark girl had gone somewhat off the rails since her father’s death, and ended joining a cult in Braavos.

Sansa didn’t speak about her much.

“I hoped you told her you had one muse, and one muse only,” Tyrion said slyly. Jaime just winked, remembering how Sansa’s pretty blue eyes clouded in envy .

“We shouldn’t speak about my art here,” Jaime said, “It would be disrespectful for father.”

Tywin Lannister had never disguised his distaste for his son’s art career. ‘Lazy’ he called it. 

Dabbing at canvas when he should have been taking his place at Tywin’s side, learning to run the company. Sloth. 

“Robbing your brother of ten dragons is respectful though, is it?” Tyrion raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing would make father prouder,” Jaime said innocently. He watched Sansa turn away from him with a slight huff, moving over to join Margaery Tyrell. Robert and Stannis Baratheon caught sight of the pair and made to join them.

“Already convening,” Tyrion noted. Margaery looked modest and wholesome in her dark mourning dress, pretty brown eyes behind a gauze veil. She was holding court, Sansa hanging off every word she said. Grim faced Stannis nodded tightly as he listened, while Robert’s eyes wandered around the Sept. Probably deciding which black dress he was going to rip to shreds after he had made a glutton of himself at the wake. 

Cersei stood away, scowling at the quartet. Stannis Baratheon looked up and caught her eye, his face turned dark and thunderous. Few people could fail to quiver under Stannis Baratheon’s wrath, but Cersei in her fur lined black velvet suit, had pride enough to stand tall. Blue eyes met green, before each turned away from each other. Pretty mouth puckering in loathing, Cersei turned on her perilous heals and stormed towards Jaime. 

“Look at that!” she hissed. “They are already conspiring against me. What was father thinking, leaving the company in your hands. If you had sold me all the shares, none of this would be happening.”

There was nothing Jaime could say to console Cersei. He had sold Margaery the second lot of shares after she promised to rejuvenate Casterly Inc, to remake it into an ethical brand in the same league as Highgarden. If anyone could stand against Cersei, it was Margaery. Not even the Lioness of Lannister could prevail against Margaery Tyrell’s iron will. The little rose was a spitfire, fuelled by ambition and greed for fame. Greed for devotion. The Tyrells loved nothing more than to be loved. The Sept’s golden statue of the Father, holding aloft his scales, had even been donated by the Tyrells. 

Jaime had chosen the final shareholders with care. He sold to Sansa Stark because she was in total awe of Margaery and would assist her in any way possible. The eldest Stark daughter was eager to prove her worth, having been outshone by her golden brother and troublesome sister. Stannis Baratheon was a principled man and could be trusted to do what was right for the company. Robert would do anything to torment his ex-wife.

The shares sold and the company off his hands, Jaime split the cash with his brother, and used the rest to fund his art career. Cersei had never forgiven her twin for his cruel and utter betrayal.

Thankfully, Jaime was spared from having to deal with the bristling lioness any longer. In a shapeless black suit, hopelessly dowdy, Brienne Tarth stood tall and awkward at the entrance of the Sept. A boxing instructor for underprivileged children, Brienne had never felt comfortable around Jaime’s society peers. Her arrival gave Jaime the perfect excuse to get away, leaving an irate Tyrion to deal with their sister.

~

  
  


“If you don’t agree, then I have nothing for my next exhibition,” Jaime moaned, sprawling upside down on his bed, the tips of his shaggy golden hair brushing the floor. 

Brienne grunted as she reached up. _“Seventy five, seventy six,”_

“How is that any way to treat a mourning orphan?”

Brienne glowered at him, red faced and slick from her sit ups. “How is humiliating me by plastering my face all over a gallery’s walls any way to treat a friend?” she shot back.

Jaime sighed, his eyes roving over Brienne’s freckled skin, pulled taut over her straining muscles.

“You don’t understand, I have a vision!” But what that vision was, was put aside as a shrill ringing shattered the air.

_“Jaime, it’s Tyrion. It’s Cersei...she’s been in an accident. Her car swerved and hit a lamp post. You need to get to Baelor’s immediately.”_

~

  
  


“She’s heavily sedated. Her surgery was a success, although she will need at least three more operations,” the doctor told Jaime. Grey and clammy, Jaime sat shaking in the hard plastic seat, Brienne and Tyrion clutching his arms and murmuring gently.

“But..but she w _ill_ live?” Jaime demanded.

“The doctors are pleased with her progress,” the doctor assured him. “We are keeping her under close supervision, but all signs point towards her health making a full recovery. Her face, however, has undergone significant scarring, and even with reconstruction surgery we can only do so much for her.”

Jaime dropped his head into his hands. Cersei had always despised ugliness and weakness of any sort. Scars, disabilities. Anything less than perfection repulsed her. She had Father to thank for that. She often mocked Jaime for ‘collecting freaks’, loving their little brother so tenderly, and lusting over his aurochs of a roommate. 

It was unlikely Cersei would feel any gratitude that her life had been saved, if her beauty had been taken. 

“She will live,” Brienne said gently, kissing Jaime on the cheek. “Just focus on that for now. We will deal with what happens next when it happens.”

Jaime fell into her warmth, resting his head on her shoulder. “I’m so glad I’ve got you,” he yawned, fear and dread and relief sapping him of his strength. “Don’t you ever leave me.”

~

“So, do you take all your girls here?” Bessy asked, her great, beautiful (surgically enhanced) tits straining against her tight black dress.

“Only my special girls,” Robert said with a wink.

Sixty four in total. Robert was a glutton for girls as he was for food and drink, and _goodness_ was he a glutton for food and drink. He was on his fourth glass of wine for the night, and his fourth courses. Bessy nibbled on her salad, pacing it out as Robert indulged himself. Even as her belly rumbled, she consoled herself with the diamond bracelet or earrings Robert was sure to present her with at the end of the night. Once she had paid off her rent, she would indulge herself to a meal fit for a queen. Lobsters and caviar and poutine, because it was her money and she could spend it how she damned well liked. 

“Your boar’s ribs, sir. Roasted in garlic and rosemary,” a handsome waiter with red hair streaked with white said. Bessy looked at the waiter with discrete interest, while Robert was distracted with his food. She wondered if she would be able to get his number before she left.

“What are you thinking Bessy?” Robert choked through a mouthful of meat.

“Oh, nothing much. Just...Robert...your face! It’s turning purple!” Bessy shrieked.

Robert frowned, wrapping his thick hands around his neck. He started coughing, spluttering, spraying great chunks of pork all over Bessy’s best dress.

“Somebody call an ambulance!” Bessy shrieked. “He’s choking! Somebody help him, please!”

In all the cacophony, nobody saw the handsome waiter discretely slip away into the crowd.

~

“This is neither the time, nor the place,” Stannis growled, his face white with fury. “You are wasting your time, Miss Tyrell. Robert’s shares are mine by right. As his younger brother, I am his true inheritor, and his stakes in the company will come to me.”

Margaery smiled winsomely, unabashed by Stannis’s anger. “I am only thinking of you, Stannis,” she said coyly. “Surely you don’t want to burden yourself even more. Think about your daughter. How will poor Shireen feel if her daddy can’t be there for her because he’s stuck in an office all day and night?”

“Very prettily put, Miss Tyrell,” Stannis grunted. “But I will not be swayed. Put this talk to rest, and cease insulting my brother’s memory by spending his funeral talking business.”

Margaery nodded, breaking away. She would have to try again later. Cornering him at the funeral had only turned Stannis hostile, Margaery realised as she admired the golden Father statue. In time he would come to see things her way.

Whether that was true or not, would never come to light. With a squeal and a clash and a clang, the Father toppled from his stand and fell to the floor. The ground shuddered and the air filled with screams, as Margaery’s blue blood and clever brains splattered all over the ancient marble floors of the Sept of Baelor. 

~

“The police are investigating it as a murder, for now,” Tyrion informed Brienne and Jaime, pouring them each a generous glass of wine. They sat on Jaime’s living room floor, Jaime’s arm wrapped tight around Brienne’s shoulder. The police questioning had left all them weary, they barely had the strength to nibble on the pizza. “All signs point towards an accident, but Mace Tyrell is insisting it be treated as a homicide. Apparently, the police are curious as to how three of Casterly’s shareholders have met with misfortune in such quick succession. It was only luck that Cersei didn’t die also.”

“Cersei’s coming home today, isn’t she?” Brienne asked. “At least that is some good news.”

“Not for our Aunt Genna,” Jaime said bitterly. “She agreed to babysit her and help her settle back in. Though how long that will last, who knows.”

“Cersei will be sad she missed the funeral,” Tyrion noted darkly, ignoring Brienne and Jaime’s glares in favour of pouring himself another glass, and chewing on his cold, greasy pizza.

~

“What do you mean he left the shares to Renly?” Stannis roared down the phone. “I was Robert’s eldest brother. The shares are mine by right.”

“Mr Baratheon has agreed to sell you the shares,” Stannis’s lawyer mumbled anxiously. “For a very reasonable price-”

“The shares should have come to me!” Stannis thundered. “I will pay my younger brother no 

price for what is rightfully mine.”

“I am afraid Robert’s will was quite clear,” the lawyer said weakly. “His shares in Casterly Inc are to be passed onto your youngest brother, Renly. Perhaps he intended for you to work together, as brothers, the way you and he had hoped to do before he was so tragically taken from us.”

“Robert intended nothing other than to put me in an early grave,” Stannis growled. “He delighted in vexing me.”

“Daddy!” a nervous voice called from the doorway. “I brought a friend round, is that ok?”

Stannis looked up to see Shireen hovering in the door, her thick black hair pulled back in tight pigtails. A pretty girl stood next to her, polite and quiet.

“Mercy is here to help me rehearse for the school play,” Shireen explained.

Stannis swallowed and nodded. “Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “That should be fine. You can tell me how the play is getting on later.”

Shireen beamed. She blew her father a kiss, before grabbing Mercy’s hand and towing her to her bedroom.

“It was nice to meet you Mr Baratheon,” Mercy called, before disappearing down the hallway.

~

“How did it happen?” Jaime asked, rubbing his forehead.

“A fire in the kitchen. Renly heard it over the phone,” Tyrion said. “Apparently Stannis was demanding Renly hand over his shares for Casterly when it happened. Stannis didn’t have time to hang up before he heard the flames.”

“Poor Renly,” Brienne said sadly. “How awful to hear your brother’s final moments.” 

It did sound rather gruesome, enough that Jaime didn’t even feel a twinge of jealousy when Brienne announced she was going to give Renly a call and see if he wanted her to come over. Shireen was already with him, and Brienne thought she could save them a job by picking up some tea for them on her way.

Tyrion was less sympathetic. “Hardly poor,” he mumbled. “Over half the Baratheon fortune now in Renly’s pockets. Hardly poor.”

Jame kicked Tyrion in the shin, his young brother giving out a very satisfying yelp.

“Are the police treating it as a homicide?” he asked. “First Robert and Margaery and Cersei, now Stannis?”

“They are looking for a girl Shireen brought home with her,” Tyrion said. “Said she was a school friend, but the school has no record of her.” He lowered his voice. “There’s a suggestion this is the work of the Faceless Men, but who can afford such a price?”

“I have to ring Genna,” Jaime said decisively. “If someone is going after the shareholders, Cersei needs to be warned.”

~

“Oh Jaime,” Genna sighed, her hale and heart voice soft and weak. “I was just summoning the courage to call you. Oh my boy...I don’t know where to start.”

Cersei had been subdued since her return from the hospital, more so even than her painkillers could be credited for. The doctors had told her to let her scars breathe, but Cersei insisted on wearing a gauzy veil over her face, even hidden away inside. 

She refused to leave her boudoir, sitting all day in the silence, refusing food and any offers of company. All she wanted was wine, but wine was forbidden while she was on her medication.

After four hours had passed and Genna had not heard the slightest movement from Cersei’s room, she went to investigate.

There she found her niece, golden hair washed and combed to perfection, floating around her shoulders in shining waves. She wore a pristine white satin nightgown, that blended into Cersei’s satin bed sheets. White lilies stood tall and proud all around in their marble vases. Against the purity and whiteness, Cersei’s scars stood out more purple and livid than ever.

In Cersei’s hands was a bottle of painkillers, empty. 

~

Sansa sat in the hotel room. She could hear the reassuring voices of her security guards mumbling quietly behind the door. A bath was running, and she had a glass of champagne and some lemon cakes coming on their way. Exactly what she needed to relax.

Her mother was coming south. She would be there by tomorrow to keep her daughter company during this troubling time. Sansa closed her eyes and thanked the Seven that by tomorrow evening, she would have her mum with her. 

Once the bath was full, Sansa clambered in. Hot and steaming and dense with bubbles, she let the heat ease away her worries. Her skin turned bright pink, as she was taken back to sharing a bath with Arya. Sansa would try to play with her mermaid barbie, but Arya would pretend to be a shark and try to eat her. Arya would thrash and quick and soak the walls and mummy and daddy with soapy water, but mummy and daddy just laughed. They always laughed at Arya.

“Room service!” a voice called.

Sansa sighed, pulling herself from her hot, scorching bath, and wrapping herself tightly in her soft robe. She could already smell the lemon cakes, fresh from the oven. 

The waitress was bent over Sansa’s table, pouring out a glass of champagne. Her dark hair fell in a curtain over her face as she deftly poured the golden bubbles into the crystal glass. Sansa turned her attention to her cakes. A great platter of them, crusted in sugar and highly decadent. Sansa decided that for once she would forget her waistline, and indulge herself.

“Will that be all ma’am,” the waitress said politely, looking up from her work.

Sansa swallowed her bite. “Yes, that will be….” her voice trailed off, and her eyes turned wide and confused. “Arya?” she whispered.

“You must have me confused with someone else, ma’am,” the waitress said evenly. “I am not Arya.”

“Yes you are!” Sansa insisted, her voice turning high and shrill. What was Arya doing here? And what game was she playing? “You are Arya Stark, my sister.”

The girl’s grey eyes, so like her father’s, remained cool and impassive. “You are mistaken,” she repeated. “I am not Arya Stark. I am no one”

“No one...what on earth do you mean Arya?” Sansa demanded, coughing on the crumbs of lemon cake caught in her throat. “What...what are you...what-”

Sansa’s faced red to purple to black, she fell to knees, stretching out to the sister as she coughed and spluttered and choked. “ _Arya_!”

“I am not Arya Stark,” the girl repeated, even as a single tear dropped down her cheek. “A girl is no one.”

~

Jaime was painting the Stranger. He stood over the seven layers of hell, watching the suffering of the tortured souls he had sent to their doom.

The Stranger had Jaime’s face.

“Oh Jaime,” Brienne sighed when she saw it, dropping to her knees to sit beside Jaime.

“It’s me,” Jaime said mildly, dabbing at the canvas. He pointed at the seven sinners writhing in agony in each layer of hell. “I sent them there.”

“No,” Brienne insisted. “Whoever did this, it is no fault of your own.”

Jaime didn’t answer. “Don’t you have a class to get to?” he asked.

“In half an hour,” Brienne admitted, “But I’m not leaving you when you’re like this.”

Jaime put down his paints, smiling wryly. “I don’t deserve your kindness,” he said, kissing 

Brienne’s forehead. He shut her off before Brienne could protest. “Tyrion is coming over. Call him yourself if you want to be certain. Go one, your students will miss you.”

Jaime resumed his painting as he heard Brienne dash about the apartment, speaking in hushed tones to Jaime’s baby brother. The words ‘delicate’ and ‘fragile’ were thrown out. The latest in a long line of tragedies. Jaime’s fierce warrior goddess now saw him as a kicked puppy who needed to be coddled. Worse than anything else, she was right.

Tyrion wasn’t in the mood for coddling. He rolled his eyes and swore when he saw his brother’s latest masterpiece.

“Oh Gods,” he snapped. “I thought Brienne was exaggerating.”

“Don’t you like it?” Jaime said innocently.

“It is the most self-obsessed, self-loathing, self-loathing piece of trite I have even seen,” Tyrion informed him bluntly. “And I should know, I wrote love songs in college.”

Jaime turned back to his painting, carefully dabbing streaks of red to his fingernails.

“I think it could work for an exhibition,” he said blithely. “Seven Gods, seven hells, seven deadly sins. Of course if you asked father I would be sloth….” Jaime trailed off, his eyes growing wide. “Seven deadly sins,” he repeated, his voice soft and trembling. “Oh Gods, Tyrion, it’s father!”

“I thought it was meant to be you?” Tyrion asked, one step behind his mad brother.

“It is me! Father is doing this punish me,” Jaime declared, leaping from his seat. “The police think this is the work of the Faceless Men, but who else could afford them? Father arranged before I died that if I sold the shares, I was to be punished. The bastard even planned for the murders to fit the seven deadly sins, so I would realise it was a punishment for my sloth.”

Jaime stood, white and shaking. “Robert, choked over a platter of ribs. He was gluttony. Margaery murdered by her family’s gold after trying to buy the shares from Stannis, she was greed. Stannis dead in a fire he was too distracted taking his wrath out on Renly to notice. And Sansa...Sansa bought the shares to compete with her brother. She was always jealous of his success. She was envy. Cersei...they weren’t trying to kill Cersei. They knew her pride would never survive losing her looks, so all they did was scar her and leave the rest in her hands. Father couldn’t have known that I would sell the shares to Cersei, I am certain. But when I did…” Jaime fell to the ground, shoulders slumped. He breathed in drought, ragged gasps. “And sloth...it’s me. Father did all this to punish me.”

Tyrion watched him, his own face grey and sickened. “Who’s the seventh then?” Tyrion asked. “There were five shareholders. You were the sixth sin. So who is lust?” It was well that Tyrion looked green about the gills. How many times had Father killed him a ‘lust filled little monster’. 

“Whoever it is, they are saving them until the last,” Jaime said grimly. “The person whose loss will hurt the most. So you or….but how is she lust?”

Tyrion turned cold all over. “Jaime, I don’t think it is me,” he said quietly. “Before Father died, I spoke to him one more time. He wanted me to convince you to keep the company. I refused, and said Father would do better to leave it to Cersei and me. I said you had no interest in business. All you wanted to do was paint and...and..”

“And _what_?” Jaime snapped, green eyes flashing, his whole body taut and tense.

“And lust over Brienne,” Tyrion admitted ruefully. “Then I left. Jaime, if what you say is true-”

Tyrion didn’t have time to finish his sentence, before Jaime had leapt to his feet and darted towards the door.

“Call the police!” Jaime called as he snatched up his keys. “Get them down to the gym, I need to find Brienne.”

~

It was a good lesson. The children had made lots of progress, and Lyanna Mormont had come back from her competition with a ribbon. Even so, Brienne felt a cloud hovering over her all session. She just wanted to get back to Jaime, to make sure he was ok. It was with some relief that Brienne saw the clock struck six, and her class began filing out.

She gratefully headed towards the staff showers, anxious to freshen up and head home. Even with Tyrion with him, she loathed to be away from Jaime for long. 

She closed her eyes as the hot jet of water sprayed down on her, the tension in her shoulders melting away. 

There was a creak, and Brienne’s eyes shot open. She frowned. No one else was usually here this time of night. The cleaners arrived at five in the morning. Brienne was the last to leave.

“Hello?” she called uncertainly. There was no response. But she could hear footsteps, clear as day, coming closer and closer. Brienne stepped from under the shower and wrapped herself in the robe hanging off the door. She made to turn off the water, but something in the back of her head had her turn up the heat, and take the nozzle into her hand. She wrapped her hand around the hose, pointing it at the ground, poised to be lifted. The steps stopped behind Brienne’s cubicle door, throwing a shadow down into the shower.

Brienne’s eyes grew wide and fearful as an axe was buried in the wood, then again. She forced herself to stand her ground, and gripped the shower head tight, the scorching water biting at her toes. At last, the splintered door was torn away, and a man with red hair streaked with white stood before her, raising the axe to make a final blow.

Brienne raised the shower head, directing the boiling water straight into her attacker’s eyes. He staggered back, grimacing at the pain, burned and blinded by the assault.

Brienne lunged forward, skidding slightly in the puddle of water, and tried to size the axe from her assailants hands. His for all pain, his grip did not budge. Brienne smashed her skull against his head, and his fingers loosened, just a crack.

Brienne sized the axe and sprinted down the length of the washrooms, the front of her robe flying open. She could hear the man following after. Her heart slammed repeatedly against her rib cage, and her blood roared in her ears.

At last she reached the door, only to find it locked. She spun round to find her attacker approaching, drawing closer and closer.

In desperation, she raised the axe and pulled it down. The blows she had dealt to her attacker winded him only slightly, and he danced out of the way. She brought the axe down again, this time glancing him on the shoulder.

He dodged behind her, backing her away into the far wall. _‘Watch where your opponent is taking you’_ Brienne’s teacher voice whispered. _‘Don’t let your opponent lead.’_

Brienne lunged forward again, swinging the axe to the side. This time she caught him on the hip. She rained down blows, pushing him further and further into the door. Blood mingled with shower water, pinkish against the white cracked tiles. 

The bathroom door was wrenched open, and the axe-man tumbled backwards into the awaiting hands of the police officers. Brienne watched, numb and cold as the axe-man was shoved against the wall and put into cuffs. She did not hear the questions asked of her, the gentle voices inquiring if she was ok. She dimly noted her robe was open, and with shaking hands tied it back up. It was only when she caught sight of a familiar flash of gold hair caught her eyes, and she heard that tender voice asking “Brienne?”, did her senses return to her, and she fell onto Jaime’s shoulder, weeping.

~

It was Jaime’s best exhibit yet. Seven paintings, bold with colour yet intricate and intimate with detail. The veins on the hands, the slight lines around the mouth, the bulge of the muscles, and the expression of the eye.

Jaime spent an entire week trying to get the eyes right, that exact colour of blue.

Tyrion looked round, nodding with approval. He sipped his champagne, his eyes straying to the pretty waitress bearing plates of delectable vol au vents. 

“The Seven Virtues!” Tyrion declared, patting his brother on the arm. “With all proceeds to the children’s gym. Very worthy of your brother.”

“I am so glad you think so,” Jaime said, obnoxiously handsome in his severe evening suit. 

Tyrion turned in a circle, counting each painting.

“Chastity.” Brienne looking shy and bashful at her hands. Jaime had made her sit for that one, and flirted with her all the way through.

“Temperance, humility, diligence.” Tyrion listed them off. Brienne cooking, blushing, exercising. “Patience.” Brienne’s forehead had a straight line through it, and her mouth was set with forbearance. “I suppose she was talking to you in that one. Charity;” Brienne reaching out an arm, helping an unseen figure to walk. The amount of times Brienne had stopped to help some old dear to their car. “Kindness.”

Brienne’s face, plain and bare and forthright, staring out of the portrait. 

“And where is kindness-patience-charity-chastity-temperance-diligence-humility?” Tyrion asked wryly.

“Hiding in the bathroom,” Jaime said with a smile. “She got embarrassed after five minutes. Too many people congratulating her. She made me promise she could leave after the first hour.”

“Well I like it,” Tyrion said. “I much prefer it to your other idea. Seven Deadly sins. No, this is much better.”

“Do you know what, brother?” Jaime asked, smiling around the room. “I might agree with you there.”


End file.
